


In Another Life

by a_quick_drink



Category: The Cave (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Rare Pairings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_quick_drink/pseuds/a_quick_drink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Strode/Briggs ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strode's neighbor likes to hide in his apartment to dodge one-night stands.

The first time it happened, Strode just laughed it off. He was new to the area and had only exchanged greetings in passing with a handful of the complex’s residents. When the neighbor he recognized from across the hall knocked on his door early that Saturday morning, he felt it only right to help the guy out, even if it was for a ridiculous reason like dodging a one-night stand. 

The guy hastily introduced himself as Briggs, although whether that was his first name or last, Strode didn’t know. Didn’t really care either. Dressed in threadbare jeans slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that looked at least one size too small, the guy’s well-muscled physique had most of Strode’s attention. He idly wondered if Briggs was also former military or just a gym rat. Either way, combined with the unruly spikes of brown hair he wanted to comb his fingers through and handsomely chiseled features, he was Strode’s type.

He didn’t learn much else about Briggs that day, and his neighbor was too distracted to ask anything in return. Nearly half an hour later, he was gone.

The second time it happened, Strode wasn’t sure if he was happy that Briggs was again seeking refuge in his apartment or that the guy might need to re-evaluate his choices because, seriously, two weekends in a row? What kind of people did Briggs go for? Certainly nobody like him. He was too old for shit like hanging out in bars and one-night stands. 

That time Strode left Briggs to his surveillance and finished making breakfast. No sense sticking around when he knew his neighbor would spend the entire time at the door. Briggs appeared in the kitchen a short while later, lured by the scent of coffee and hot food. It was apparently safe to return to his own apartment, but he accepted Strode’s offer of a cup of coffee. 

Over two more cups of coffee and an impressive amount of blueberry pancakes, Strode finally learned more about the quirky man who had inserted himself into Strode’s life. Like himself, Briggs was in a bit of a rut with civilian life and currently worked as a bartender at a local club. Just something to pay the bills until something better came along. He didn’t want to get attached to anyone if that something better meant moving, hence the one-night stands. He seemed like a good guy, somebody Strode could see himself being friends with, at the very least.

When Briggs left that morning, an unidentifiable feeling settled in Strode's chest.

The third time it happened, some two weeks later, Strode noticed a spark of mischief in Briggs’ eyes before letting his neighbor in. Again left Briggs alone to his watch and retreated to the kitchen. As he worked, he tried not to think about why the devilish little smirk Briggs had flashed him was tying his stomach in knots. 

Strode started the coffee, and had just finished chopping vegetables for omelets when he sensed someone watching him. Turning, he saw Briggs leaning against the counter behind him, arms crossed, eyes raking over him. Strode’s stomach flip-flopped from the attention. 

Briggs pushed away from the counter and took a step toward him. “Making enough for two?” he asked, sounding innocent despite the hunger bordering on predatory in his eyes. 

"You’re staying?" 

"I’d like to, yeah." 

He stepped backwards as Briggs advanced, and found himself pinned between the opposite counter and Briggs. Not a bad place to be considering it seemed like he would get mauled any second now. 

"And then what?" Strode licked his lips and rested his hands on Briggs’ hips. "You’ll hide on me too?"

Briggs winced slightly. “That was only those two times, and I don’t usually have to do that. But this time…” He slid his hands up Strode’s arms and offered a crooked smile. “I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

"So there wasn’t anyone last night?"

"Hasn’t been for the last couple weeks." 

Strode let that settle in his mind. On some level he sensed they could be compatible in the long run, but was that what Briggs wanted? Would he just be another fling while Briggs waited for that something better to come along? Could he ever be that something better? 

Ducking his head, Strode brushed their lips together in a tentative kiss. Briggs wound his arms around Strode’s neck, pulling their bodies snug as he eagerly returned the kiss. “Breakfast?” Strode tried, the word muffled against Briggs’ mouth.

"Later."

Strode could only manage a grunt of agreement before maneuvering them out of the tiny kitchen and toward the bedroom. He often wondered if uprooting his life had been a good decision, but any lingering doubts were forgotten when Briggs kissed him once more, softer this time. Reassuring.

Maybe this could work…


	2. Drowning In You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strode resigns himself to a lonely day of reading when he has to pass on skiing with the rest of the team. Until he finds Briggs also stayed behind, that is.

Feeling eyes on him, Strode glanced up from his book to find Briggs staring back at him from across the room. Briggs’ expression was blank, but something about the intensity of it sent a shiver rolling up Strode’s spine. Probably just the cold draft seeping in from the window behind him. Or his own wishful thinking, though he doubted that look meant what he wanted it to. Briggs turned his attention back to the video game he’d been playing and all was as if the moment had never happened.

If there was one thing Briggs lacked it was subtlety. And tact, to be honest, but that was a whole other issue altogether. He was the kind of person who, when he had something to say, he said it. He didn’t beat around the bush and he didn’t care what you thought. All that mattered was that it was off his chest. Nothing seemed to bother him because he never gave it the opportunity to. But something was clearly on his mind now.

Strode returned to his book, or at least tried to. After rereading a paragraph for the third time he finally gave up and set the book aside. His mind refused to translate the words into anything coherent while it parsed what had just happened. What he needed was a distraction that would get him out of this room and out of his head. 

A twinge of pain shot through his lower back as he pushed himself from the overstuffed recliner. He’d woken this morning feeling stiff and miserable, an unpleasant reminder of what happened when he pushed himself too hard. It was going to be one of /those/ days. Push any more and he’d be useless for a week. So he’d passed on another day of skiing with the rest of their friends. The prospect of wasting a day of vacation alone in the spacious cabin held little appeal until he found Briggs had also stayed behind. Strange, but he wasn’t about to question it. 

Few words passed between them all morning, though that was normal. They tended to work quietly together, cramped quarters or not, and if anyone said anything it was likely Briggs injecting something entirely random into their comfortable silence. He rarely wondered where Briggs was because the man was usually hovering somewhere nearby, something he didn’t do with anyone else. For as often as he wanted to throttle Briggs, he would never complain about the company.

In the kitchen, Strode rummaged through the cabinets to find the kettle he’d seen the other day. Over the clatter of pans and dishes, the soundtrack of gunfire and swearing coming from the other room made him chuckle. He could almost believe everything was normal. Almost. But Briggs would say whatever was on his mind when he was ready to and not a moment sooner. Drawing attention to it would only cause Briggs to retreat and it’d be that much harder to get him to open up.

Pushing the thought aside, Strode gave up his search and instead pulled a mug down from the cabinet. The microwave would suffice, it just wouldn’t take nearly as much time as he needed to get rid of these thoughts. 

As he idly watched the green digits tick down, he was keenly aware of footsteps behind him and then a sudden warmth against his back. Hands settled on his hips, and Strode drew a sharp breath, counting the seconds away in his head. This was somehow just a dream, it had to be. They were friends, nothing else. Never anything else.

After more than a minute went by, Briggs pressed his nose behind Strode’s ear. Maybe it was a cruel joke. But this was Briggs. He was a lot of things–mouthy, cocksure, aggressive–but never cruel. “This okay?” Briggs asked, his roughened voice curling around Strode’s gut.

Strode managed a nod when words failed him.

A contented sound rumbled in Briggs’ throat, something akin to a purr as he dug his fingers in and pressed himself completely against Strode’s back. “I wanted to say something sooner but…I’ve never been sure of…anything,” he murmured, lips fluttering against Strode’s ear. “And then you almost died on me, you asshole.” 

At that Strode turned around and cocked an eyebrow at Briggs. “And what about you?” he asked, eyes falling to the long pink scar on Briggs’ throat. There were plenty more to match scattered all over his torso, and Strode hated knowing exactly how they got there. He still had nightmares about that. None of them spoke about what happened under those mountains because why bother? The shared physical and mental scars spoke volumes.

Briggs offered him a lopsided grin that tangled Strode’s insides into a knot. “What about me?” he taunted.

“You think I’m going to forget how you almost got yourself killed because you’re a stubborn little shit who thinks he knows it all?”

Briggs lifted his chin, tempting Strode to do more than argue with him. “You love it.”

Strode ducked his head, the scent of bergamot, pepper, and Briggs assaulting his senses. He loved a lot of things about Briggs. When Briggs turned his head and paused, Strode recognized the out-–last chance before they did something that would change things between them for better or worse. "You sure you want a middle-aged beach bum with a trick back?“ 

Huffing a laugh, Briggs rubbed his stubbled cheek against Strode’s. "We all have our flaws.” He punctuated the quip with a barely there peck to the corner of Strode’s mouth. “So you gonna kiss me already or what?”

“God, you’re impatient.”

“Hey, this is what you’re signing up for if _you_ want _me_.”

It was then Strode realized how easily he could lose himself in Briggs if given the chance. And maybe he already had. Their lips met in an easy, gentle kiss because, despite all the lost time he could now kick himself for, Strode refused to rush this. He slid a hand around the back of Briggs’ neck and deepened the kiss. Briggs tasted so much sweeter than he imagined, like peppermint lip balm and electricity and…promise. He would die a happy man if he drowned in this.

Briggs smiled against his mouth. “Let’s go upstairs and I can show you what else you’re signing up for.”


	3. Why I Must Have Sex With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briggs leaves a bunch of [these](http://queeshmael.tumblr.com/post/111294287550/imagine-your-otp-having-a-lot-of-fun-with-this) for Strode to find.

When Strode has to stay behind while the rest of the team goes to Germany, he thinks nothing of it. More than anything he’ll miss Briggs, but it’s only a week and it’s not like they won’t have any contact during that time. He’d survive. Still, that first night alone is rough, and after spending hours tossing and turning and never truly sleeping, he finally hauls himself out of bed to get his laptop. 

When he settles back into bed, he’s surprised to see a sheet of paper sandwiched between the screen and keyboard of his laptop. Reading the title of the pre-printed note-–Why I Must Have Sex With You-–he barks a laugh. The box next to “Very Soon” is checked, along with the ones next to “You smell nice”, “I heard you were good”, and “Please”. Across the blank area at the bottom of the sheet is Briggs’ signature written in his neat script.

Smiling to himself, Strode sends Briggs an email thanking him for the note before shutting the laptop down and setting it and the letter aside on the nightstand. 

Over the next few days he keeps stumbling across the notes stashed all over their apartment; some sweet, some ridiculous, some a bit of both. His favorite, though, has to be the one he found in the fridge of all places with checked boxes for “I like your shoes”, “There’s nothing on TV”, and “I’ll pay you”. While he’s enjoyed the scavenger hunt, the notes have him going out of his mind with need for Briggs. 

_It’s been awhile._ Check.

 _I just changed the sheets._ Check.

 _I can’t survive without it._ Check.

When Briggs tackles him later that night, it’s frenzied kisses sliding off their mark, hands fisted in clothing and hair, and shared breaths. It’s “Welcome back. Did you miss me? How was the trip?” spelled out in bite marks and finger-shaped bruises. And when all is said and done and Briggs is curled against his side, Strode can’t resist asking him what reason he’d pick for tonight.

“You look good in jeans.”


End file.
